


Knot your Typical Case

by athletiger, MountainRose



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha-shift sex, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Bathing/Washing, Blood, Bomb!squad avengers, Canon-Typical Violence, Cap!Wolf - Freeform, Come Inflation, Full Shift Werewolves, Hand Feeding, Human Tony, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Steve's PTSD, bucky!wolf, knotting sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-25 15:04:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18576934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athletiger/pseuds/athletiger, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MountainRose/pseuds/MountainRose
Summary: Steve and Tony were called out to what sounded like a standard domestic terrorism bomb threat. It escalated a bit, maybe.Possibly a lot.Ch1: the Mission. Steve and Tony face down a complicated situation, that is maybe also On Fire, god damn it, and may or may not explode.Ch2: They comfort each other in the best way they know how; using Steve's giant wolf dick.





	1. The Mission

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yumi_Eleven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yumi_Eleven/gifts).



> Yumi_Eleven waited patiently for like...three months for this fic which ended up being written by the lovely MountainRose.
> 
> Rose, you're an absolute dear for writing most of this fic for me <3 Thank you for bringing this fic to life so quickly!

In this god-forsaken land, where the hot desert sun beat down on the dirt road, gravel paving the way through the middle of nowhere was the only indication that humanity had ever existed here. There was no shade in sight, and the dunes stretched on for miles on either side of the road. 

Sticky sweat poured down Steve’s forehead, into his eyes and the collar of his combat uniform as he stood there in front of the Humvee, his loyal companion by his side. Even though the sun was setting and casting a warm golden hue down below, it did nothing to change his surly mood; all it did was make him annoyed that the late afternoon glow affected his vision.

He sighed heavily as he looked out at the long expanse. His body ached – it had been a long day, and he was ready to go back to base with food and a shower. But first, they needed to clear the road of potential bombs. “You ready?” Steve asked, looking down at his K9 partner.

Bucky barked once, scathing in the slant of ear and one eye. Although he must have been just as tired as Steve, he was still alert and ready to do his job. Without waiting for Steve, he padded forward, nose sniffing the air. Steve followed with his bag of markers, stepping down the middle of the prints Bucky was leaving in the road dust.

Bucky barked occasionally, nosing gently at the dirt to make a mark. Where he signaled, Steve marked the place with a flag. 

Meticulously, they traveled forward, weaving this way and that and marking the potential dangers so that the Humvee, and the soldiers inside it, would not blow sky high. It was a long trek and a slow one; the sun had completely set by the time they were clear back to previously marked road. A burst of radio signaled the Humvee to follow; they were lucky there was room down the middle. The driver would have to--

So focused on the mission at hand, Steve only noticed that something was wrong when Bucky’s ears flattened to the back of his head. His head jerked to the side, mouth pulled back into a snarl. Steve followed the movement instinctively, looking past the wolfs shoulder– 

A heavy weight battered against his chest, and for a second Steve was blinded and disoriented by the attack, stars, headlamps and torchlight wheeling. He landed hard on his back, all air crushed from his lungs, and his arms pinned down tightly. The jolt was what he needed to force himself into action; a knee to the thigh didn’t do much, but the fist he jammed under its jaw saved his own throat. Bucky howled and snapped beside him as Steve struggled against the wolf above him.

And there was no doubt it was wolves; a packs worth.

Three other voices joined the conversation, a mess of snarling and the not-bark that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You couldn’t hear _that_ and think ‘dog.’

The one pinning him down snarled and Steve’s chest vibrated with the sheer volume of sound. Unlike Bucky’s comforting barks and howls, the call of these wolves held no warmth; Steve’s skin tried to crawl off his bones. The wolf above him reared up, taking its heavy pressure off of Steve’s chest, and he got a look at it; dark matted fur, eyes glowing green in the dark, teeth bared.

A full shift omega, well fed but nearly feral, with old blood slicking down its fur.

Bucky’s roars and fighting growls grew distant as Steve hyper-focused at the danger in front of him. By no means would Steve die lying down under this enemy – it just wasn’t in his nature, even if this wolf was much stronger than even Steve’s supersoldier-serumed body. The wolf opened its jaws wide, bending its head down with clear intent to rip out Steve’s throat. Too clear; in a spike of adrenaline, Steve grabbed ahold of the open jaws with both hands and threw him aside.

Feral made you unpredictable, is some very predictable ways.

Steve scrambled up as soon as the wolf staggered, and straightened. They watched each warily, each waiting for the others first move. Having his attack anticipated had rattled the human inside the wolf. Their standoff was tense and stifling, Steve barely dared breathe, and in the background the sounds of Bucky’s brutal wolf-fight interrupted what would be otherwise cold silence. A small breeze blew, picking up a cloud of sand to hiss against his legs, and then from the darkness another pair of green eyes glowed. A second wolf, then a third, padded forward until they stood beside the first one.

“This is hardly fair – three against one?” Steve muttered under his breath, reaching behind him to unclip his shield. That one movement, the moment one hand appeared out of play, prompted the wolves to leap into an attack.

Lucky him. Steve aimed for the left wolf first, slinging his shield like a disk. It knocked the wolf out cold, but it skittered to the side instead back into his hand, leaving Steve defenseless. Steve spared a thought of quiet resignation at his lack of protection. There went his chance to win this fight.But he wasn’t just going to stand there; he shoved the thought aside and focused on the wolves that surrounded him. 

If he was going down, he would go down fighting. 

Steve dove towards the second wolf, meeting it halfway. It was crazy, legitimately insane to go on the offense when he was outmatched and outnumbered, but really, he couldn’t back down from a fight, especially not a hopeless one. 

The wolf leaped up and Steve ducked under it before he grabbed a leg and threw the wolf towards the ground as hard as he could.

It worked, and the bones snapped with a sharp crack. Steve smiled triumphantly for a moment, but that win was short-lived. A heavy weight pressed against his back, sending him stumbling and falling into the desert sand. Before he could even process the change, a heated pain rippled from his collarbone.

The wolf had bitten him. Steve couldn’t breathe, feeling the blood pouring out of the wound. He was going to die - the serum wasn't quick enough to heal a wound that severe before he croaked.

The heavy weight lifted off of him. A thump, and then a hand flipped him over so that he was staring at the night sky. He gasped, feeling light-headed, and Bucky’s face peered over him.

“Steve,” he breathed, trying to staunch the blood flow. It was bleeding too heavily, but he struggled to keep his eyes open.

“Your arm,” Steve gasped out, trying to lift a finger to point at Bucky’s arm...or the lack of it.

But Bucky pressed his leg against his wrist, stopping him from moving. “Fuck my arm,” Bucky said, pressing harder against the wound, and Steve moaned in pain. “You’re bleeding out. Stay with me Steve. Don’t sleep.”

“—hurts.”

“I know. You have the wolfbite now. Stay with me.”

And then his world burned when the poison reached his heart.

\---------------------------

Steve came belting back to consciousness, already on four feet and 400 pounds. Tony, yelping, scrambled back up from the...floor? While Steve struggled to get all his limbs out of the damn strangling blankets. 

“Steve, did you—” He could hear Tony’s throat click; idiot never drank enough water. “Did you have a nightmare?” 

Steve had, yes, thank you. His irritation, fear, lingering taste of the death-blood of his enemies; it all came roaring out of him in a throat-aching howl that he was going to _regret._

Tony scrambled back onto the bed with him and clamped his arms around his neck. This felt like a _terrible_ idea, Steve’s teeth too big for his mouth, his claws too sharp, right up until the actual impact, which was boneshakingly reassuring. Tony was never shy about using his whole weight, and they crashed back down onto the mattress. 

Steve went quiet under the weight, their combined mate-scent billowing in a cloud around him and getting him right between the eyes. His heart rate is still thundered against his ribs, but he remembered that he is alive. 

Unfortunately...this gave him the space to remember that he had plenty of not-dead trauma worry about.

Tony’s grip loosened and he started combing Steve’s fur back down with long, familiar strokes. 

Wolves didn't cry; they didn’t have the right kind of tear ducts. Instead, Steve had an awful, high pitched whining that was about as polite as tears in its ability to squeeze out of him without permission. 

Tony, bleary and smelling like sleep still, readjusted them so he was lying more completely on Steve's flank. “Hey, buddy. You with me?” 

Steve flicked his left ear in agreement, a silent sign for 'yes.’ Tony didn't seem convinced, somehow. Steve growled in affront. 

“Turn into a shape that fits in bed and maybe I'll believe you. For now, I need coffee. Waffles in bed?” 

Steve flicked his ear again. He didn't want to move, and he'll never say no to eating in the den. Bed. 

The words meant the same thing, these days. It was good to have a mortgage and house insurance and _stability_. He’d had no idea being deployed was so shitty for Bucky's instincts until he was lumped with his own set. 

Beat work was good for him. 

No sand, for one.

— _sand sifted through his coat, stuck to his blood, to his tongue, the grip Bucky had on his ruff gritty with it_ —

Today was going to be a den day, thank fuck they had an off-shift. He shook the remains of the sensory flashback out of his fur and breathed out the wolf. 

Or...he tried. Panic clutched at his belly, raised the fur on his back, and had him lumbering off the bed and after Tony. 

“Oh, babe. Tough one, huh? Can't even wait for food?” 

Steve huffed steamy air into Tony's shirt and leant heavily against him. Pinned between boyfriend and breakfast, Tony continued the soothing routine of coffee filters and waffle iron.

“Sniff.”

Steve obediently took a deep whiff of vanilla-hazelnut latte. It helped clear a few cobwebs, incompatible with the sweet tar of blood drying in roasting hot sand. 

“Lick.” 

That time it was a soy-sauce dipping bowl, filled with squirty cream and Steve's raspberry sauce. He licked, and the taste of _hot asphalt and dying breaths_ was wiped away. 

His next breath was deeper, cleaner. He felt the shift slide into place and stepped cleanly onto two legs. “ _Tony_ ,” he breathed, curling around his back and pressing them together from knee to nape. 

“There you are. Love you, babe.”

“Love you too, Tony. Thank you.” 

Tony huffed, embarrassed. “What's a spoonful of cream between partners.” 

“It's more than that, Tony. Don't-” he bit his tongue. “ _Thank you_. You're putting up with a lot at... Seven a.m. I appreciate you.” 

Tony turned in his arms, ignoring his nakedness in favour of pinning him in place with his eyes. “You'd better. I am a _gift._ ” 

Joke was on Tony though; that was exactly how Steve felt, every damn day. 

Steve pressed his nose against Tony’s temple, inhaling his mate-scent and letting it sink into his bones. He smelled like home: a hint of a warm summer breeze billowing through the window, a dash of metal from all the bullets he made by hand. He normally didn’t like the smell of wolfsbane, acrid poison that it was, but mixed with hibiscus, he found that he didn’t mind that much. 

“You are a gift.” Steve squeezed him tighter. He was glad that he had Tony, that he wasn’t back in the desert sand, bleeding out and the fire burning through his veins. 

He was home with an amazing mate who had the strength of a million men when they went to catch perps out on the job. He was a gentle husband too, the other half of his heart that brought out the best in him. He was happy, and his chest swelled with love for the man in his arms.

“Ow.” Tony pushed at Steve’s chest. “You’re squeezing too tightly.” He pushed harder when Steve didn’t immediately let him go.

Steve grumbled, but he finally loosened his grip. He didn’t let go completely though, and he lifted the smaller man up onto the kitchen counter. He settled between Tony’s open legs, tilting his head up to capture his lips. Tony tugged on Steve’s hair, and his scalp light with bright pain. It was a good pain, and Steve moaned softly into his mouth.

The smell of burning waffles filled the kitchen, and Tony broke off the kiss. “Fuck!” he said breathlessly, finally pushing Steve away from him and leaping off the countertop, lifting the blackened waffle off the iron, waving his arms about to clear the air from the smell. “We burned our breakfast. Ass.”

Steve laughed. The smell didn’t bother him anymore, not like it used to, when the smell of charcoal could send him scrambling into a corner, hidden and shifted, only being able to coaxed out when Tony crawled beside him. He opened the window, letting the room air out, and he shivered lightly when the breeze brushed over his naked skin. “You love my ass.”

Tony gave said ass a good resounding _whack_ , drawing a yelp from his lips. The lingering warmth made his cock stiffen. With not an inch of cloth covering him his cock stood proudly away from his body.

Steve couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed of his reaction. 

“Oh it's like that today, mmm?” Tony asked, eyes dark and interested. 

Steve squared off with him, shoulders curved aggressively and his grin more tooth than mirth. “Wanna find out?” 

Tony crowded into his space, dishcloth bunched and forgotten against Steve's collarbone. “Oh, I'm all up for a little 'breakfast’ before breakfast. You gonna rise to the challenge?” His jaw went soft, tongue visible over his teeth and Steve pulled him in tight, pressing his cock to Tony's belly. 

“Reporting for duty, _sir_ -”

Tony broke character into giggles, dropping his head into the crook of Steve's neck and rubbing languorously at Steve's cock with a whole-body grind. “You talk to you commanding officer with that tone? How did you not get court martialed?”

“Hon, I am just too damn pretty for discipline.” 

Tony cocked his head with a sunshine-bright grin and landed another wholloping smack on Steve's ass. 

The both jolted at the contact, the deep heat shivering into an electric moment. Steve slid one hand down, following the curve of his spine, before he slipped his fingers into Tony’s sweatpants. 

Tony arched into it, the sweet curve of his spine spanned by Steve's palm and drawing him in, magnetic. He couldn't help but breathe Tony's rising scent, drink him in in a gesture more suited to fill shift than human. 

Tony, _god,_ Tony being the most perfect, most electrifying mate material, leaned into it and ran his mouth, open jawed and wet up over Steve's throat, nipping at jawline and tongue leaving a sticky-hot trail. An old gesture, a begging gesture, that had Steve's wolf rearing to the fore, eager to dominate and answer that unspoken question with his cock.

Tony was really pushing his luck with that one; Steve's self control hung by a thread and unless Tony had prepared himself, they needed to back off _now._ Steve leant down and bit him to stillness, teeth fastened on the thick muscle of his shoulder.

A brief shake made Tony whimper and loosen, spine curving and knees going weak enough that Steve was holding him up against his chest. 

“You...” Steve growled, “Day off. We can take our...time.”

“Or we can just...go again,” Tony writhed, shifting so Steve's cock slid against seam of his pyjama pants. Steve turned and pinned him against the counter, cutting off the deeply provocative sensation. 

He was just leaning towards a long-resisted kiss—waiting was sweet torture—when the goddamn fucking APB pager went off in the living room. 

Simultaneously, they slumped against each other, tension broken.

“If that's the Manirez's missing persons again—”

Steve blindly patted the back of Tony's head, still draped over him and gathering up the motivation to go answer. “If it is, it'll be good news, and we can go back to bed.”

“Fine. Go. I'll get bacon waffles going. We can at least get them to go.”

Steve gave him a last, deeply grateful squeeze and went to find the screaming pager. With each long beep it was less likely to be a polite notice; no one would ring this long for found-person memos. 

Yeah, no luck.

“We have five, maybe ten minutes; they're sending a siren for us,” Steve reported, coming into the kitchen again. “We’re being called in for a bomb threat.”

Tony swore violently and flipped the waffle iron. “Uniform or fur?” 

Steve jerked his head to one side, huffing in irritation. Fur meant Tony in the bomb armor which would suck, but uniform inevitably meant he'd shift through it and tear through another one.

“Fur. But I'll wear the stupid gown to start. Want to be able to ask questions at the briefing.”

The gown, a perfectly serviceable Japanese thing made out of robust cotton and they same colour as the uniform, was a point of contention. Steve's used it for practical purposes but was intensely aware that he wasn't wearing underwear underneath. See also: everyone else intensely aware of this, too. 

Tony found it very sexy, of course, because he found Steve's humiliation very sexy.

Steve would rather the humiliation stay private though. Tony's attitude towards fixing this whole shenanigan was to robustly ignore his inevitable hard-on and behave as if nothing at all about Steve being barefoot and in Boss mode was turning him on. 

Steve appreciated it, he really did, but it was still going commando in public. 

He laid out Tony's bomb squad uniform while he was getting their shit together, and fished out the personal tool rack Tony had customised. The uniform itself wasn't much, less bulky than the beat uniform and less worn; it went under a giant armoured construction that lived in the squad truck. The gloves in particular were a pain to work in, so Tony had developed the tool rack to position the handles of screwdrivers and the other miscellany just right.

It sped them up, which meant they had a higher clearing rate. 

Thank fucking god.

“Tony! Switch!”

“Copy, 'm coming,” Tony replied, a clattering in the kitchen telling about a fumbled pan. 

The passed in the doorway, pausing for a quick peck, and swapped roles. 

Steve worked on breakfast in his gown, laying cooked bacon into the waffle batter, and Tony clattered around the bedroom getting ready.

The were both dressed and downing coffees by the time the siren screamed into their street and turned off with a screech. 

Their poor neighbors.

Steve shoved the food in a bag and they scrambled down stairs. If their ride got impatient and put the siren back on, their whole building would hate them forever. 

On the way down the stairwell, Mrs. Campbell hollered out her front door at them:

“Home alive or not at all, boys! You hear me?!”

“Yes Mrs. Campbell!” They chorused, off tempo and without pausing. 

“That's right, you're good boys. Grillin’ on Sunday! You bring your nice friend!” 

Steve paused at the bottom to tell back up. “Yes ma'am! I'll tell him he's gotta!” 

He scrambled after Tony and climbed into the back. Sam pulled away as soon as the door shut behind him and Steve planted his feet to stay upright without crushing his breakfast. 

“Morning, Cap, Tony. We've got a planted bag that Buck ID’ed as containing potassium nitrite, and an active threat on social media. Looks like they wanted everyone watching the building before they detonate.” 

Steve grabbed a waffle in his teeth and thrust the bag through the grating hatch to offer them to Tony and Sam.

“They got a manifesto up?” Tony asked, taking the bag. “That's pretty unusual.” 

Sam also accepted a waffle, biting a chunk off and making Tony hold it for him. Steve couldn't help but laugh at the affronted look on Tony's face. 

Sam, chewing, answered after the next junction. “Yup. It's all in the file, but cliff notes: they got fired for being a dickhead, and want to bust up the company building.”

“White-collar?” Steve asked, second bacon waffle halfway eaten. 

“Yup, accountant at Hammer Industries.” 

“You're shitting me, the office here?”

Sam nodded, dead serious. “Main office, mostly other white collar offices.” 

“Evacuation plans?” Steve asked, clinging to the grill as they hit a corner.

“Nat says they're a piece of shit. The building is bound to have people trickling out still. People going to ground too, if we use the sirens.”

Double edged sword, hitting the sirens in this context; people who've read mass shooting warnings tends to end up holed up in cupboards and under steel desks. 

Not the worst place to be, but it wouldn't help them if the bomb took out a structural beam.

“Almost there, you done eating? Leave the rest with me, would you? They got me outta bed too.”

Tony stuck the leftover waffle in the glove box and cleaned his fingers carefully on his shirt. He was meticulous about it going into a disarmament. 

“Our neighbors’ invited you to the grill this week, Sam; no excuses.” 

“You think I'm missing Mrs Campbell's sticky ribs, you got shit for brains.”

They pulled up to the cordon and were waved through, a ripple of relief going through the squaddies when they were recognised. 

“Yeah, yeah, see if you smile like they’re heros when they're farting on _your_ couch,” Sam grumbled, maneuvering through the crowd of patrol cars. “Aiite, hot-shots. Fuck off. No dying.”

“Copy, Sam, see you in there.”

Sam parked them next to the bomb squad van and they piled out into the usual scrum of staff and equipment. Tony went straight for his armor and started strapping in, while Steve b-lined for Nat.

“Anything new? Sam read us in on the basics,” Steve asked. 

“We're still getting trickle-out, and the PA system is only installed on the bullpen floor; two execs are unaccounted for, who knows how many unlisted grunts,” Nat reported. She was standing over the building plans with a red pen in hand. The bomb, a double circle with a star at the center, was marked right up against a central support pillar. 

“Shit, that's a risk factor,” Steve commented, pointing to the pillars continuation on the second floor. 

“All the way to the roof,” Nat confirmed. “It'll collapse inward if it goes, at least.”

Part of the job was to make sure the blast wouldn't spread by toppling sideways, so this was actually good news.

“The bomber?” Tony asked, shuffling forwards in half the armor. 

“Coulson’s on it. Looking like he'll let you in,” Nat said. “He's a staller.”

Tony nodded and Steve kept his doubts to himself. A man on a trigger could be unpredictable and after a while, the significance of the button faded, and they'd be more willing to hit it. There was more to IEDs than the trigger, too, and there was no telling what materials a domestic terrorist could get their hands on.

The back of the bomb squad truck had become the defacto command center, equipment and cables spilling out so the techs had enough space to work. Tony, armored to the neck and significantly less mobile, sat on the back step while Steve hopped down into the scrum and headed for the main desk. 

The command center was _packed_ , humans crowding around the van like sardines. Commands, requests for information, callouts on the employee list, it all melded seamlessly together into a wall of well-oiled functionality.

As he shouldered into the circle, the team hushed. They listened with baited breath as Coulson attempted to placate the man at the other end of the detonator. 

“—pieces of shit are better off dead! I've _let_ you evacuate! I don't know why you're trying to—Kids have died, people have lost their jobs, I was kicked out for _saving people_ , and—this is fucking pointless—” 

“That's not true,” Coulson said in a hurry, interrupting a downward spiral. “The ATF can open an investigation - “

“ATF?” the man scoffed. “The _ATF_ are in these fuckers pockets. A _recall,_ hah! I've tried that! And the SEC. Did they listen? No.”

“You have made your case with clarity and confidence, Mr. Wright. The evidence is right here in your manifesto.” Coulson gestured for the file, and his crew went into a scramble. The SEC report, if there had been one, was missing from the file and Coulson muted his mic long enough to get his team on it.

“Are you shitting me?! I get fired for—for _nothing_ , for recalling—for working inside the system our country! No, this company needs to die. Properly. Not just repackage it's fucking assets!”

“I understand, your manifesto was my first source of information when I arrived. You have been very thorough,” Coulson said, managing to combine soothing and placating. “It's time to present your case in court, Mr. Wright. I have the ATF and SEC reports right here.” Coulson sounded authoritative and confident, like he could whip up a federal investigation in minutes. 

This was because he could. There was every possibility he _would_ , actually. If the guy backed down.

“There's one thing missing from this file, though, Mr. Wright. The evidence you'll be destroying if you set off that bomb,” Coulson continued, hovering over the shoulder of one of his guys, reading the summary of the SEC file. 

“Steve,” Clint tapped him on the shoulder and he turned away from the negotiations. “He's on the top floor, can't see us. You've been cleared to go in.” 

Steve's heart rate picked up, combat ready. Coulson, glancing over, flashed his phone: 

‘GO. NOT WORKING.’

Steve frowned and looked askance at Clint. 

“The SEC thing is new but, they've been round this track before. The guys’ got personal beef he's not talking about.” 

“Shit,” Steve growled. “It sounded so promising.” He turned to Tony and cocked his head. Tony nodded and hefted the tool kit and helmet. Time to go. 

“Good luck, don't die, etcetera.” 

“Thanks Clint, you're a real pal. Grab my robe?” 

Clint leered. Steve, having managed to ignore the partial nakedness, was not going to start being bothered now. 

They left the noisy scrum, shoulder slaps and good luck charms all 'round, and stopped at the edge of the inner cordon. The blast zone. 

“See you on the other side, love,” he said, bumping shoulders with Tony just as he jumped into the shift. 

He landed on the other side of the cordon, robe next to Clint and all his senses expanding outwards. 

The building ahead smelled of paint, and offices. The smell of printer toner and the workers mainly, but also dying pot plants and old banana skins. With the road out front closed, and people held back, stepping into the blast zone with Tony was like diving underwater; a different, quieter world. 

His senses got strange, sharp and diffuse in a blast zone, hearing, smelling, every last detail. 

Tony, shuffling with the heavily padded armor, was a wall of sound and detail that ratcheted Steve's instincts up to the breaking point; Tony might be wearing the blast suit, but Steve was damn well aware how little it would do if the bomb went off in Tony's hands. 

The foyer door had been propped open with a fire extinguisher; Nat was right, the emergency plan for the building must have been absolute garbage. 

On the threshold, Tony at his shoulder, Steve raised his head and took a deep scent of the space.

Chemical fertilizers, cleaner...bleach. Sugar. 

...Ammonia. Shit. An ammonium nitrate bomb, and shitty containment if he could already smell it. 

Under the harsh chemicals, Bucky's scent drifted near the floor. Steve lowered his nose to it and...yeah, there. He spotted Bucky crouched in full shift, by the reception desk. 

On the other side of the desk, a standard gym bag, big enough for a set of football pads and brand new. It leant against the pillar, bulging at the bottom with the weight of its contents.

That...that was a lot of fuel. Enough to break the pillar, balloon out the bottom floor, and dump the whole building on their heads.

'Clear?’ Steve asked Bucky, a tilt of the head and widening of the eyes. 

'Negative. Warm bodies, above, left,’ Bucky answered. The language, built out of the relatively limited number of body gestures they could make covertly, was at least silent and honed for context. 

A sign for warm bodies, and one for cold bodies, but not one for 'home’. Or 'fuck’, even, which is usually one of the first. 

He looked up at Tony, head cocked.

“Go. I'm on radio with bossman. Stay safe.” They bumped into each other again, before Steve trotted to Bucky to join him sweeping the building. Unlike Steve, Buck was wearing his uniform, a bite collar and his panniers. Sam would be nearby; no point bringing panniers if you're splitting from your partner.

The wolves would find people, and Sam would get them out.

Steve followed the smell of breakfast waffles to find him. 

\---------------------------

Without Steve, the foyer felt empty and cavernous, the retreating sound of paws and Bucky's prosthetic echoing. 

The bag looked sinister as all hell from Tony's perspective; bulging and distorted by the bags of powder inside. He moved forward, checking for wires, antennas and optical sensors. Usually, the bombs people left in bags like this would be on a cellphone trigger, anything much more sophisticated took a lot of knowledge and...skills...Fuck.

He froze.

Reached up for his radio.

“Clint. Problem.” 

The radio hissed, then clicked open. “ _Go ahead, Tony; bossman on the line_.” 

He swallowed, shifting slightly sideways to get a better look at the electronics half hidden in the bag's top pocket. 

“Confirmation on cell trigger, also seeing shake detection, ambient light and infrared motion sensor.” 

“ _What the_ fuck _?_ ” A clatter against the radio mix and muffled voices, then Clint came back. “ _We copy, upgrading threat level. Are you in the detection zone?_ ”

Tony swallowed and screwed his eyes closed long enough to breathe. “Confirm; trigger risk...pretty high right now.” 

The IR sensor, the tiny red emitter and it's sensor, were pointed right at him. Without seeing the parts’ back, Tony had no way of identifying the range. 

“Staying put until you clear the building. Okay?” Tony said, slowly reaching up to pull down the secondary face shield. Visibility dropped to four square inches, and he measured his breath to avoid fogging the plate, balling his fists inside the armored gauntlets. Hopefully, the armor was cool enough not to register on the sensor but any movement could change that.

“ _Confirm and solid copy. You're the boss now_.” 

“Great! Love being boss of a shitshow. I'll try backing out of range once you call clear. Negotiation?” 

“ _Stalled,_ ” Clint reported, sounding tense. “ _Either the guy’s gaga or...there's some shit going on here._ ” 

Tony eyed the complex trigger array. “I'm going to say; not a nut. This is deliberate, untraceable components, new, cannibalised from untracked consumer goods.” 

Amateurs tended to use demolition or mining equipment. Fireworks detonators. _Fuck_. Tony closed his eyes for a brief moment, willing his fingers to still. “This isn’t just an accountant,” Tony decided. “He either has practical experience or... possibly a supplier. What I can see from here isn’t the shit you see if you google, it's...”

He stopped, closed his eyes and took a deep breath, putting himself in the right mindset. Okay, go. 

“I'm seeing mobile phone components, out of burners, they've reused the casing. Antenna is two-core flex. IR sensor is a custom part, from the building alarm catalogue, probably.”

“ _Good work Tony, keep going; we're running cross-reference_.”

Tony's throat clocked as he swallowed and he nodded to himself. “Shake-detection is Sony, playstation controller. There's got to be another smartphone inside, running software for that, might be a way in.” 

“ _We're still getting too many hits_ ,” Coulson reported. “ _What about ambient light?_ ” 

“Photoresistor, PCB component, it'll have a serial number if I can blind the IR sensor enough to get close.” 

“ _Hold that thought, getting a building update._ ” 

Tony held, letting his eyes rest for a second.

 _As soon as I move, the array is going to get an alert._ Whether that went to the bomber or straight to the bomb was anyone's guess; smart bombs were flexible, unpredictable.

There was a thirty percent chance that he’d live, this close to the bomb. Not bad in the grand scheme. His heart rate disagreed, but Tony hadn't joined bomb squad for the safety and bennies. 

He eyed up as if he could see through the ceilings, all twenty floors. He may not know how much powder there was in that bag, but there was definitely enough to hurt, especially if Natasha was right about the structural collapse.

And she was the expert, coming from a demolition company. 

His radio hissed back into life, this time with Sam on the far side. “ _Last hostages are out, and we got scent on the triggerman. Be advised: trigger man is NOT the bomber, repeat: trigger man and bomber are seperate people._ ”

Tony swore. “What the fuck, Sam?” 

_“Bucky's at one hundred percent certainty, Tony. Trigger man has not touched that bag._ ” 

Coulson opened the line. “We're upgrading the threat level all the way on this one. Your description matches a five-bomb cluster from Romania last year, also with seperate bombers and triggers.”

“Okay. Okay, so. Steve free to assist?” Tony asked, hopeful. He could...maybe they could, get an IR shield up, and fool the sensor long enough to get close. 

“ _Yep, both wolves ready to assist_.”

“I'm gonna need my blast shield, a CO2 fire extinguisher, and someone to spray the wolves with it before they come in. Sam, got your heat camera on site?” 

“ _Confirm. What am I doing?_ ” 

Tony shifted his feet, tension making him ache. 

“Once you're in the doorway, spray Steve down until his surface temp matches ambient inside, then he can bring the blast shield and I'll be able to back away.”

Behind him, the door clattered. Then, the hiss of the fire extinguisher. 

The click of Steve's claws and the careful press of his blast shield against his back and Tony felt the imminent-death tension bleed out of his spine. 

Slowly, he couldn't afford to stumble, he reached back and slid the shield around to his front. He kicked the stand down and _there_. 

With the shield in place, his IR silhouette was hidden, he could move again. He flopped back onto his butt, then to the floor so he and Steve, with their higher body temperatures, were properly hidden. 

Steve crowded into the cover with him, standing over his shoulders. Mist from the extinguisher seeped off his fur and slid down to the concrete in long, diaphanous whisps. 

“Fucking hell, was not expecting this level of sophistication.” 

The brain-bending sight of Steve shifting out of reality and back in again made him sigh and drop his head back to rest in the helmet.

“You're lucky the armor is as insulting as it is. Christ, Tony.” 

He opened his eyes again and there was Steve, naked as the day he was born, crouched over him. Naked and intensely vulnerable without so much as a scrap of Kevlar. 

“We're going to have to cap it with mylar. Use a handling pole.”

Steve nodded and reached above Tony's head for the tool box. “Pole, check. Want me to extend it?”

Tony waggled his thick gauntlets off. “Yeah, the sensor won't see it, so. That way.” He pointed and Steve started telescoping the pole out. Reaching blindly, Tony flicked open the toolbox's second drawer and pulled out the rolls of tape. 

Duct tape, masking tape and then the mylar. Steve offered him the tip of the pole then shifted back for safety, looming over him while he worked.

Tony rigged up the cap painstakingly, never daring to sit up while he worked. A dome of the reflective tape, backed in duct tape, then strips of low-adhesive masking tape to get it to stay in place on the pole. 

Some tape-origami to make an adhesive landing pad...

“Check?” 

Steve obligingly eyed it, then flicked an ear in affirmative. 

It had taken maybe seven minutes. He clicked his radio. 

“Going in for first-stage trigger blocking. Everyone behind the cordon.”

“ _Copy, Tony. Give us two minutes. Negotiation is circling the drain, I'm delaying but he's not been honest about his motives, we have zero indication of his real beef._ ” 

“Great.”

They waited, tense, until they got the go ahead, then Tony eeled over onto his front and wrestled the armour into a crouch. Working with just his hands out from behind the shield, Tony carefully guided the cap towards the sensor. 

The shake detection and ambient light sensor both got in the way of a clean job; he twisted and moved with glacial care. 

If the tape snagged on the fabric-- 

Time stretched. 

He pulled the cap back, folded the tape here, added more there, and tried again with the refined shape.

Ten minutes in, he was positioned and bringing the delicate construction up for the final attempt. If the tape didn't grab now, they would have to start all over.

He pressed the cap over the sensor and held tense, barely daring to breathe as the fabric shifted--

The handling pole came away and the cap stayed, covering the merciless red eye of the sensor. 

Tony drew the pole back and promptly slumped back onto his ass. 

“First trigger down. We got it.”

The radio chattered with celebration and he and Steve relaxed out of the shadow of the blast shield. 

Movements freed up again, Tony rummaged in the tool kit for his electronics instruments, and a mirror.

“Steve, I'm going to use the mirror trick on the ambient, ID an angle for me?” 

Steve nodded and shifted back so he'd have fingers to operate the lux meter. 

Tony desperately wanted him in armor, but the shift was better protection than Tony could ever provide. Tell Tony's instincts that, though. 

“A forty-five, up and toward that light there,” Steve reported. “Perfect match.”

Tony nodded and rigged the clip and arm to match—

“Tony, for luck.” Steve invaded his space and pushed the face shield away. Tony stilled, gut churning, and accepted the kiss with grace.

He took the time to gather his strength again; he wasn't suited to this job the way Steve was, but by fuck he was good at it. He could make this shit show safe. He _would_.

“Alright, streaker,” he joked, patting Steve's chest with the back of his knuckles. “Back outside. Armored personnel only.”

“Yes boss,” Steve replied, mocking, then kissed him again. When Tony opened his eyes after that one, Steve was gone back to the foyer door.

Click. “Advancing to trigger two.” 

He fitted the mirror over the sensor, guiding it so his shadow couldn't fall over it, even as he worked on the PCB it was soldered to. 

“Working. Coulson, I need a man on the MOSFET book. Make Clint do it.”

“ _You know how hard it is to get that man at a desk? You ask big, Stark._ ”

Tony grinned, appreciating the lighter mood. “Parts code incoming, you got a pen?”

“ _Shoot, Tony_ ,” Clint responded, serious. 

Tony rattled off the transistors code, then started work on the other components while Clint worked the lookup table. 

“ _It's a Dark-on type, if you match impedance on a bridge, you can remove the sensor._ ”

Tony, measuring the resistance across what he thought might be a timing capacitor, shifted to the light dependant resistor. 

“Yep, that's looking promising. Retreating for now.” 

He'd need to build a bypass back behind the shield. 

This...this was going to take a _while._

\---------------------------

Steve convinced Tony to drink, but the time-sensitive nature of a trigger man situation meant that Tony worked solidly for the next four hours. 

All of it inside the damn armor; sweltering and almost fifty extra pounds.

Steve had joined Coulson at the two hour mark, as Tony beat the light sensor and moved on to the shake trigger. The lack of resolution with the triggerman was a very serious problem; he could blow Tony and the building sky high at any moment. 

“I don’t get it,” Coulson was saying, “he doesn't actually care about the recalls. Oh he cares about being fired, but he's not intense enough about it to explain why he won't come out of the building. It's suicide, effectively, but he's not _suicidal._ ”

Steve could only shrug. His main experience with bombs was people actively trying to kill him, not a complex mentality. 

“The only things left in the blast zone are him, the building and Tony. He must be trying to kill one of them.”

Coulson looked at him sharply. “You think this is aimed at Tony?”

Steve shook his head, but was suddenly less sure. “I mean...we're the only bomb squad in the county... But no, it's just. That's what'd happen.”

But Coulson had gone sharp and alert, onto something. “Either of you had contact with Hammer recently?”

Steve groaned and pulled his gown tighter across his shoulders. “No, of course not. I'd have reported a violation, you know that.” 

“Not necessarily a violation of the restraining order but... A tweet, or... He's a boaster, and he'd do this, it's his building and he has the skills.”

Steve was dubious. “Not to manipulate someone into suicide he doesn't. He's as charismatic as much as a rhinovirus.” 

But Coulson was already turning away and setting a member of his team to checking up on Hammer. Clint, bent over circuit diagrams and log books, glanced up in question. Steve, deeply embarrassed that this was even vaguely a possibility, declined to comment. 

Clint went back to his conversation with Tony. Steve itched to go back in, and leapt at the chance when Tony needed another set of microchip sockets. He shifted, let Clint outfit him with his panniers, and slouched to Tony's side, stewing. 

Fucking Hammer. If he was involved, Steve was gonna eat him.

He pulled a face, getting an odd look from Tony, and curled up in a stubborn circle behind the blast shield. 

He could hear the radio in Tony's ear well enough, but wouldn't be asked to comment in this form.

The clock ticked over to the five hour mark. 

\---------------------------

The movement sensor turned out to be the easiest and evilest of the triggers so far; easy in that Tony knew exactly what to do, and worst in that it had taken hours to solder, clip, manufacture and install the non-sensitive mimic circuit. 

With that done though...

Tony turned away and retreated to the blast shield. “Triggers diffused. Remote detonator remaining. I'm gonna start pulling out the blast fuel, isolate the firing mechanism.” 

“ _Good job, Tony. We'll get shipping sorted_.”

Once the fuel was out of the bag, they'd need to get it away from the building. Bucky and Steve would be in charge of that. The likelihood of it detonating without a blasting cap or flame was near-zero. 

Tony breathed out tension. Yeah. Downhill from here. 

He took a fresh Stanley knife to the bottom of the bag and worked it up through the fabric to make a way in. Carefully, and well aware that if the bomb went his armor wouldn't matter at this range, he slipped his glove off and got his fingers on the back side of the blade. Slowly, pushing the plastic-wrapped mixture back so the knife wouldn't nick it, he opened a hatch. 

The first bag of fuel slid out into his lap and he froze. 

What the _fuck._

Inside the plastic, the bag was stuffed with confetti. It was heavy, still full of highly dangerous ammonium nitrate, but it was packed mixed in with gold foil confetti. 

The tape holding it closed had patterns of balloons. He put his gloves back on, suddenly a lot less sure.

“Um. Central, we have a weirdness.” 

He explained and the line stayed ominously silent while he crouched frozen in place. 

Click. “ _We're looking into suspicion that Hammer may be related to this case. Possibly._ ” 

Tony's heart sank. Fucking _hell._

“This is. Exactly his style... Fuck.” 

He peered into the bag, shining his torch up. The next block of explosive glinted red; more metallic confetti. 

“Yeah, shit. Okay. So. This is aimed at me.” 

He pulled the block out, slowly, and with one hand preventing the last from falling before he was ready. Then, all three were out and he could reassess this bullshit from a safer distance. He slid the red and gold parcels far away from each other across the concrete, and backed all the way to Steve. 

Steve stood and leaned heavily against his side, or maybe Tony was leaning on him. The point was moot. 

Hammer was a madman, this bomb wouldn't be all there was to this game. 

Click. “ _We have confirmation that Hammer was in Romania during the previous round of bombings_ -” 

“Oh you are _good_ , aren't you, little agent-man.”

Tony groaned and his throat tightened as he searched for the speaker Hammer had taken over. Steve's hackles rose, a low growl barely audible, and mirrored from behind; Bucky.

“ _Tony! Tony, Tony, Tony, I do just adore the sound of your name. How did you like my little challenge?_ ” 

Tony refused to answer, this was how Hammer got you riled up. He wasn't good at it, but it made Tony's skin want to crawl into his boots.

“ _Five whole hours! I am so terribly disappointed, I thought we could get lunch! But you're so_ slow, _and this button is still... Ah, alas. Poor decision, Tony. You should have checked the fuel bags_.”

The gold-doped fertilizer off to the left started ringing and Tony's stomach dropped into his boots. 

“Bucky, get out--!!” 

He flung himself over Steve and brought the blast shield down on their backs.

The bomb blew. 

The shockwave knocked the air out of him and thick, oily flames poured across the faceplate. Black smoke followed, filling the helmet and making catching his breath impossible.

His leg, cocked to one side next to Steve was heating up and _oh goddamn he was on fire._ He hauled back off of Steve and scraped at the flames on the suit. Grains of-- he smelled caramel and worked harder-- grains of sugar were sticking to him, smearing the flames and providing fuel against the fire-retardants in the armors surface layer. 

He coughed and shouldered up his secondary face shield, shaking a thick pall of smoke out of it so he could breathe. The air in the room wasn't much better, and he had no time to find a pocket of breathable air. He coughed and worked at the flames crawling up his knee and now his gloves.

It took maybe a minute to put out the fire, and by then his ankle and back of his knee were bright red and blistering. The armor was weaker there, where the suit was fabric for flexibility. The ceramic plates on thigh and shin were showing through but intact, at least. His gauntlets were toast, just scraps holding together the plates that protected his hands. The pads of his fingers threatened to blister too, but he couldn't pay the injuries any attention now. 

Little fires burnt all over the floor, and Steve's thick coat was looking decidedly thinner, the tips melted and crinkled. 

“Steve, you alive?” He asked, voice shaky. Metal foil drifted down, burning, all around them. 

Steve lifted his head, unsteady, then rolled to his feet in a burst, shooting across the room. 

“Steve, wait--!”

Before Tony could get the full protest out, Steve was kicking the flames away from the second packet of fuel. 

“ _Stay put, Tony, or I'll blow the other two,_ ” Hammer ordered. Tony knew that tone; the bastard was getting off on this. 

Tony stayed frozen, blast shield still burning at his back and gobs of fire littering the floor. In the corner of his vision, where the visor met the helmet, he spotted Bucky putting out a fire that had started in the reception desk, dangerously close to the third bag of fuel. Tony was glad that he'd flung them far apart, but... In all likelihood, they had internal triggers to. 

The reception desk caught, fancy wood, trashcan and printer paper finally beating Bucky out and forcing him back. He picked up the fuel bag instead, and raced off down a corridor.

Tony froze in horror; if the bomb went off in Bucky's mouth, there...there would be nothing left. 

\---------------------------

_What a shitshow._

Bucky dashed for the stairs, jaw straining to carry the bulky, awkward bundle. His canine had pierced the plastic wrap and ammonium nitrate and sugar were leaking onto his tongue. The combination was unbearably sweet and burning the side of his mouth. 

He tilted his head, tongue trembling and a gag rising in his throat. He had to resist, though; if the could get to the fountain, there would be one less bomb in the building. 

Second set of stairs; nearly there. 

He rounded the corner, scrabbled on an abandoned stack of papers, and slammed full-force into the wall. 

The bomb scattered crystals and red confetti across the floor and Bucky scooped it back up. 

He could taste blood through the ammonia now; it'd burnt through the corner of his mouth. 

He didn't think about it, it'd have to wait. 

The fountain in the CEO's lounge was four feet long, by a foot wide, a bizarre modern art monstrosity, and Bucky plunged the bomb into the water and bit down, hard. 

Plastic tore and spilled burning sweetness into the water. He shook his head, splashing violently to get all the crystals out, and _there_ : his teeth met slick, tempered glass and he bit down with a crack. 

The phone fizzled and died. 

The water around his muzzle chilled, painfully cold, and he left the remains in it to die. The fertilizer, dissolving and stealing the water's heat, was no longer a threat. 

He washed the blood and crystals out of his mouth with the upper basin, swearing and dreaming of milk or cream, longing to be back with Sam; Sam would know what to do with chemical burns.

But there was no time; the fire would spread, and Tony was the hostage now. 

\---------------------------

The fire was growing, licking at and melting the ceiling tiles. The reception desk itself was burning now, belching white smoke that filled the foyer. The air quality was going to drop, quickly. Inside the helmet was always close, humid, but with the smoke drawn in with every breath, his lungs were starting to seize. 

“ _Tony, report!_ ”

“Alive. Minor burns.” He coughed sucking down to avoid billowing smoke. “We have two, possibly three additional bombs. Do not approach.”

“ _Copy, holding cordon. We're working of jamming local cell_ —”

“No! He'll have them on a no-signal trigger.”

A speaker somewhere in the smoke 'tsk'ed. “ _Spoilsport, Mr. Agent. I'll blow the whole building of you try._ ” 

Tony grimaced and limped over to join Steve away from the detonator in the bag and the remaining confetti bomb.

They could only hope Bucky had taken permanent care of the other one while he was hidden in the chaos. 

“What's your goal here, Hammer? What could you possibly hope to _achieve_.” 

“ _I have my reasons,_ ” he replied, sounding pissy. “ _Can't a man have a nemesis without people making such a big deal out of it?_ ”

Tony knelt and buried his face in Steve's fur, ignoring the awful smell of burnt hair. Steve leaned into him and hooked his chin over Tony's shoulder. 

“You're not my nemesis, Hammer; you're a delusional idiot. You're...nothing. Just go away.” He felt Steve chuckle and leaned on tighter. “You gonna let me put the fire out?”

“ _Where's the fun in that? You really should finish my puzzle; it'd be such a shame if you...failed to live up to my expectations._ ” 

The sports bag, gutted of its fuel, was dangerously close to the rising flames. Tony dragged himself to his feet and tested his burnt leg; fine for now. Maybe he'd been quick enough. He reached out to pull the bag to a safe distance, but something inside buzzed violently.

Tony froze.

He'd taken out all the sensors, it shouldn't be capable of detecting his grip on it. “Very funny, Justin.”

“ _Wouldn't want it to be too easy, now. Disarm it there, or not at all._ ”

Tony peeled back the zipper and revealed the Frankenstein smartphone cable tied into the frame. Hanging below, where the fuel had been, was a jar of steel balls the size of a quarter. The lid was punctured by a blasting cap and inside...

Yeah. C4. 

Enough to blow him a hundred yards in all directions.

“Fuck you, Hammer. Christ.”

The fire had already heated his left side up through the shielding and it'd only resist ignition for so long before the fire retardant burnt up. He'd have to work quickly. 

Gloves off and burnt fingers screaming, he opened the phones root menu and set to work.

\---------------------------

Steve was starting to feel the heat. His fur might resist catching fire but it didn't save him from the smoke coming off the fire at well over five hundred degrees, or the radiating heat off the fire itself. 

He shuffled, trying only to move when the smoke billowed thick enough to hide the security cameras. If he could get the third bomb out of the room and away from Tony, Hammer would lose interest and, hopefully, he'd have time to drown it. 

Movement at the double doors out front; Steve risked a glance and spotted Sam and Bucky, either side, and a long firehose stretching out of sight. 

Sam's lips were moving, so Steve focused, dish-ears turning for maximum acuity:

“—looped. Bomb four drowned, trig—sabled. Extern—meras looped. Bom—owned,” he was whispering, and after a few more repetitions Steve was sure he was hearing it right. Bucky had succeeded and Coulson had gotten into the security cameras. 

He finally reached the third bomb and grabbed it, shooting out of the door and shredding the package as soon as he was in range of Sam and the hose.

Fertilizer and sugar spilled out everywhere and the phone trigger went flying into the wall, vibrating and setting off its detonator with no fuel. Sam opened the hose and soon the bomb was a white, gritty puddle.

Steve, crystals burning at his tongue and eyes, bit at the clean water and let the water clear away the awful taste.

_Success._

\--------------------------

“ _Oh look, Tony..._ ” Hammer sounded closer, intimate, and Tony jerked away from the phone in his hands. “Look, _Tony; I've got you all...to...my...self._ ”

Tony whipped around to look for Steve and caught a glimpse of him shaking water out of his ruff before the billowing smoke cut them off. 

“Cut your shit, Justin, I'm doing your fucking puzzle.” 

“ _Why would I, Tony?_ ” the phone crooned, “ _when you're just so damn pretty when you're working?_ ” 

“I'm not _pretty_ , you insignificant short ass!” He growled into the phone, fingers creaking on the casing. “I'm not your nemesis, I'm not _anything_ , to you. You're _nothing_ to me.” 

“ _But-- my puzzle!_ ”

“It’s a fuckin _BOMB_ , this is not a _GAME!_ ” 

Frustrated and sickened, suffocating in the pall of burning building, dripping with sweat and desperate to have this case over, Tony tore the cables out of the back of the phone and hurled the fucking thing into the fire. 

The bomb didn't blow and instantly turn him to coleslaw, so there was that. 

“ _Tony how_ could you!” Hammer boomed out of the PA speakers. “ _You've RUINED IT. You were supposed to..._ ” 

“ _What,_ Hammer? I was supposed to _WHAT_? Die? Go to _lunch_ with you? It's not going to _happen! I'm not your friend!”_ Detonator defused, Tony pulled the C4 out of the jar-bomb and boxed it in fire retardant and steel, locking it down with an angry slam. 

“ _You were supposed to like my present, Tony why are you like this, why do you just have to ruin everything!_ ”

“Well congratulations,” Tony muttered, stomping away from the fire and fighting off smoke to find the door. “You've noticed my finest skill; not putting up with your shit.”

“ _Fine. I'll give you your present now. I loved you Tony, I loved your work. This hurts me, it really does._ ” 

“Fuck off,” Tony muttered, not bothering to raise his voice high enough to be heard.

The smoke thinned for a second and he spotted Steve out the front door, sat on his haunches and looking proud. 

A grin was just creeping up his face when the front wall blew in towards him. Steve vanished behind a waterfall of splintered brick dust and the blastwave knocked Tony back. 

He landed on the concrete amidst a rain of shards and lay stunned, the oxygen-poor air not even making it into his lungs. Five successive blooms of dust signalled the detonation of charges buried in the concrete beams overhead and the roof cracked down the middle. Tony flung himself sideway in a hail-mary, seeking shelter under the giant steel pillar that had started this whole mess.

The roof cracked, pieces of the floor above falling with earth-shaking booms. The concussive blast rattled Tony’s bones as large pieces of concrete fell around him. It was a sheer miracle that nothing crushed him; even next to the pillar pieces of concrete the size of his fist clattered down onto his armor. He could only lay there dazed, ears ringing, as he plunged into complete darkness, waiting for everything to stop.

Steadily, the weight on the armor grew and he strained to breathe, to keep his hands protected, keep the helmet covering his neck. He gritted his teeth, held back the creeping panic. 

In the pitch blackness, the heat and stifling smoke grew overwhelming, choking. The sound of crackling fire overwhelmed the grind of collapsing building and Tony pushed frantically at the rubble partially burying him. He managed to raise his head out of the crushing mess and then shook his shoulders free. 

His helmet smacked hard into something overhead and he froze, anxiety clawing at his composure. A slow, careful exploration with one hand confirmed it; he was trapped in a pocket, a giant slab of concrete leaning up against the pillar had formed a triangular void in an otherwise packed rubble pile.

“Oh God, _oh God_ ,” he sweared under his breath, hunkering down in the middle of the void and reaching for his comms. “Come in, team.” He waited a moment, hoping that his comms were still up. “Anyone? Testing one, two, three.”

Dead air. Tony reached down to probe at the radio by his side. It was less a radio and more a broken mess of wires and plastic pieces,the final nail on the coffin; he was utterly and truly alone in this dark hole with no way to escape until the search crew reached him.

It was sweltering in the suit, but there was no way Tony would take it off now; bits of rubble were still burning, others were dangerously sharp, torn rebar jabbing out. 

He carefully pushed chunks of brick and concrete off his back then pried at his legs. The side with damaged armor took a long time to dig out; sharp edges and hot metal kept falling into the gaps left where the shielding had burned away. It was a long and painful process, but eventually he managed to free himself and crawl blindly into the void. 

He put his back to the pillar and slumped, helmet against his knees.

_Fuck._

\---------------------------

Steve had to be in command. 

Search and rescue was a wolf's job, and he _had_ to focus. They'd need cranes, earth-movers, jacks, wedges.

They _didn't_ need two paws, scrabbling in the rubble and looking desperately for his mate. 

He had to keep it together. 

“I'm seeing brick, reinforced concrete and glass; Romanov please confirm on dousing?” 

His radio, stolen from control, along with his pants, clicked open. “ _Confirmed. Keep it to a rain; no direct jets.”_

“Copy. Fire team, you have clearance.” 

The firefighters knew their jobs and didn't need any further directions. They rigged the enormous hoses to rain on the burning rubble from the street, and Steve watched anxiously while he called construction companies who might have the correct equipment in the area. 

Two mini-JCBs and a backhoe rolled up before the fires were out, worried drivers piling out and looking up at the pole of rubble. One, an older black man, took his hat off. 

Steve looked through their eyes for a second and...

The building had pancaked completely, twenty floors, two of them concrete slab, and the brick siding all rumbled into a pile that was still burning here and there.

Looking for a survivor was

Steve hid behind an ambulance and was violently sick.

Sam appeared with a bottle of water, and they hid from the chaos together, just for a minute.

But they were on the clock; if Tony was alive, he needed out _now_.

With Sam at his side in case he needed to shift, Steve went to greet the drivers.

The fire chief joined them and they set about establishing rubble fall patterns and where they could safely walk. 

Steve, itching with the urge to shift, worked with one eye on the fires. Even standing on the wheel arch of the backhoe, directing the operator, he was intensely aware of the fire fighters. The moment the hoses moved away from the front of the rubble, Steve leapt off the backhoe and was shifted by the time he hit the ground. 

Light footed and delicate, he picked his way onto the steaming bricks. Testing each foothold before he trusted it with his weight was slow going but his senses were already reaching further into the pile. 

The clicking and hissing of cooling concrete rose in his ears and was discarded. The more distant crackling of active fires... Disregarded. Moving water... Dripping... No... A rat scrambling out... 

_There_. 

Tony's heartbeat, thumping away fast and strong.

Steve crept forwards, ears stiff and node straining for any scent that wasn't 'burning.’ 

A beam, rising out of the pile, and a tiny gap beneath were the source of the sound, a faint echo to the lub-dub that implied a void... Yes. 

He carefully shifted closer, pressing a shoulder against the giant chunks of building stabbing out of the brick heaps. He noted which ones shifted, which felt stable, where the rubble sounded hollow, and most importantly, he followed that heartbeat. 

When he was as close as he dared get, when he had a plan for the digging, he set his feet, drew air deep into his bellows-chest, and howled. Long and loud and pricing; a call to arms, and a promise.

Bucky, back at the cordon, howled back, triumphant, and soon the engines and earthmovers rumbled to life. 

Deep in the rubble, brick ground together and a small, hoarse, _human_ voice answered: “ _Oh thank fuck. Hey Steve,_ ” 

Steve howled back, rising in question. 

“ _Status...I'm ok, I'm not...not bleeding. Some crush injury, maybe. Void is two meters by three by one, defined by large intact slab, resting against the central steel pillar.”_

He paused and Steve heard hoarse, smoke-damage coughing. The steel support jabbed up out of the rubble, and there was a slab resting against it; whether it was the same one was harder to say. 

“ _No fires nearby, but the air is... Wasn't good to begin with. Ventilation is minimal, getting unpleasant but not dizzy. Gonna have to balance that against... Please don't let this thing drop.”_

Steve was so limited, he wasn't sure how much of the howl Tony would understand, but he couldn't bear to hear this without saying something back. He shifted skin and positioned himself carefully where Tony sounded loudest, at a small fissure in the concrete.

“Tony, I'm coming for you, I've got earthmovers and a crane on the way! We're going to be listening! Keep talking!” He shifted back, ears straining to catch a reply. 

“ _I’m sorry, Steve; I got maybe ten percent of that. There's a lot of_ — _there's no light getting down here, I'm pretty deep.”_

Steve growled and wanted to just...bite it, bite this whole fuck-dumb pile of rocks. Tony sounded like he was in pain, struggling to breathe, and the pitch dark wouldn't help at all.

Bucky hopped up beside him and gave him a solid shove back towards the trucks. _'You, needed. Go. I listen.’_ He settled next to the slab, ear cocked towards Tony. 

Steve tore himself away, leaving his heart in his paws, and raced back along the safe-path he'd scouted. 

“Where's that crane? Sam, you get on that, MR. BACKHOE, yeah, this way please, I need you to clear the loose matter from the sidewalk! Six meters wide; the crane needs a landing pad.”

He shrugged into his gown without blinking an eye; filthy sooty and scorched, his naked body didn't draw as much attention and he had no time for that shit anyway. 

“Fireteam, with me; I've got a safe path mapped, and casualty is talking and cogent. I want structural options on securing a tilted slab while we pull rubble from underneath--” 

Steadily, an ear always out for Bucky's howl, he got his people organised. 

As the crane rumbled in and deployed it's giant stabilization gantries, he reassigned the earthmovers to clearing a way towards Tony's bolt hole; they'd need at least the smallest of the three to work on the rubble there. The two bigger, lumbering vehicles could clear a path much quicker than if the smaller minidigger went in alone. 

The tension in Steve's spine was ratcheting up to breaking point, and when he couldn't bear it, he scrambled up the rubble to Bucky. There he could hear Tony's heartbeat, his slow, painful ramble about rebar and concrete and his nice, helpful slab. 

Digging him out took eight hours. 

Paramedics, working with Sam and Bucky had tried to get water to him, food, but no luck, the concrete that had poured down had locked up and wouldn't shift. 

The best they had managed was an air pump, blowing into a likely fissure. Tony's breathing had improved, at least. 

Working in the dark, exhausted and struggling to stay coordinated in the baffling and blinding floodlights off the trucks, they crept ever closer to the teetering slab looming over Tony. 

Eventually, with the crane firmly locked around the slab and holding it steady, they began pulling rubble out of the void, barely a meter away from where Tony was trapped. 

_“I THINK-- holy shit, yeah; I see you! I see light!_ ” 

Steve's eyes stung. “Nearly there, Tony. So close. Sit tight.”

Rubble rolled away, picked up and stacked by unseen helpers in the dark, until finally Steve found void. A firefighter next to him shone her torch onto the darkness and there he was.

Tony Stark, alive and in three dimensions. 

The last of the rubble between them fell away in a rush, destabilised, and everyone froze, waiting.

Far over head, the crane creaked and cables groaned, taking all that weight as the slab shifted, an inch... Four... Six... And stopped. 

Steve, eyes locked on Tony, watched as horror melted away into relief and Tony dared move towards the hole. 

Steve and the firefighter reached in, grabbing handfuls of the blast suit, hauling to keep Tony's weight off the unstable rubble and then he was out. 

Steve pulled him to his chest and finally, at long last, managed to breathe. 

\---------------------------

Steve's face was the first thing he saw, coming out of that goddamn hole. Haloed in the floods off a backhoe, filthy dirty and utterly beautiful. 

Sharp, unforgiving concrete gave way to human hands, clenching tight on his and keeping him steady as the ground spilled out beneath him. His head swam and he couldn't find up and down, the light and shadows too crisp and confusing to help after eight hours of unbroken darkness. Steve though, Steve was real and solid under his palms, taking his weight without flinching. 

After that, things dissolved into chaos as they got off the rubble heap, Tony held carefully in Steve's arms and a multitude of hands keeping them balanced and safe. Tony clung shamelessly to Steve, dizzy with fresh oxygen and blinking the halos around light sources. Paramedics met him and Steve at the edge of the rubble, fitting Tony with oxygen and pulling them away from the thronging celebration. The ambulance was quieter and Steve gently let him down on the gurney. Tony relaxed back with a deep sigh, eyes slipping closed while he got used to having enough air again. They pulled away from the curb and a whoop of patrol car sirens told him they had an escort.

He stayed limp and relaxed while Steve pulled off his life-saving helmet, his head cradled in Steve's giant palms. 

“Hello,” he mumbled. His throat felt awful and he coughed violently, the spasms threatening to jerk him off the gurney until Steve shoved in behind him and held him tight. Someone held out water and he drank, deeply thirsty. The cup was only half full, though and he whimpered. No more appeared, but he did get a kiss that was almost as good. Then, having lost his oxygen mask while he was coughing, his vision went a bit dark. 

He felt floppy and weak all over, unable to hold himself up, and Steve lay him back down with tender hands. Bruises where the armor plates had rested while they took the pounding of falling rubble, screamed at him and he plucked at the chest plate. “O-off—” 

“We're working in it, honey. You don't need to talk, okay? Focus on your breathing, lots of lovely O2, yeah?”

He nodded and closed his eyes. 

The Steve and the paramedic cut through the dented and broken armor, the plates and remaining scraps of fabric clattering to the floor. They helped him roll off the backplate and then, bliss; soft lovely gurney mattress.

Sweaty clothes cooled instantly in the night air though and he shuddered, opening his eyes. “Cold,” he rasped. 

Steve relayed this to the paramedic, who traded places with him. 

“Hey Mr. Stark. I'm Emily. You feeling cold?” 

He nodded, remembering the oxygen mask and sucking deep on the richer air, trying to clear his head.

“I'm going to take your temp, ok? One second.” The thermometer in his ear felt gritty, and he squirmed in distaste. 

“I know, not the nicest. All done.” She checked it, and fussed with something on his oxygen supply, then wiped his face under the mask with a piece of gauze. She showed him with a wry smile; the gauze was black with soot. “You're a bit hot, and not sweating, so I'm going to start you on fluids and an IV version of Tylenol, sound good?” 

Tony gave her a thumbs up and then reached for Steve. 

“Just a second and we'll swap back. Your throat feeling pretty bad? You're doing a good job staying quiet.” 

He nodded again, grimacing. 

“I need to know you don't need anaesthesia before I go giving you another drink, but I've got the obligatory ice chips. You want?” 

He did. The melting water was enough to clear some of the soot and there was the bonus that Steve returned, with a blanket. Tony felt instantly better, and held Steve's hand placidly while Emily stabbed him with an IV. 

He lay flopped out on the gurney, sucking slowly in his ice, while the medic did assessment on his internal organs; much prodding, but no pain. Then she was at his knee and that _did_ hurt. The bright pain of burns and grit filled abrasions. This cut through some of his haze and his hands started aching, the superficial burns starting to get the better of him. Icepacks and Steve were applied to both, his hands carefully pressed into the cooling gel.

Steve hovered over him and once Tony was set up, their eyes locked in silent promise. From there, gravity took over and soon Steve was curled over Tony like the blanket. 

By the time they arrived at the ER, Tony was a bag of fluids and twenty minutes on oxygen in, and feeling much more alive. 

His burnt knee had been declared superficial and he was handed over to the doctor's with no fuss. Steve was able to stay with him the whole time, x-rays and a pulmonary work up, blood tests. 

Tony was exhausted, slipping in and out of sleep while doctors came and went, but Steve was there always. 

Eventually, he was given water, and a large bowl of purple jello, and he shook himself awake for that. 

With all his little scrapes patched up; hands and the knee, a kind doctor with a lung specialism took over and he had another round of cold stethoscopes and hollow tapping on his ribs. 

She gave him a reassuring look and sent him home with orders to do some serious coughing and eat plenty of garlic and ginger. 

“It's mostly because it's delicious,” she commented with a wink, “but anything that makes you more mucusy is good for clearing soot particles. Curry, steamy soup, that sort of thing. With luck, you'll be clear in a week or two. You'll want to cough up everything you can before lying down, once every couple of hours is good. Check in with this number” she wrote out her extension, “in the morning,for more details on that. I'll quiz you on symptoms, assign you more homework and then make any modifications to your aftercare.” She signed a script for his antibiotics and then turned to the forms Steve had completed. “Treat yourself like you have a cold; fluids, resting sitting up, hot soups.” 

And with that, he was released. 

He let Steve do the organising, sitting on his gurney in the blanket the hospital had provided. 

Later, half asleep in the back of Sam's patrol car, the reality of the day started to grow on him. 

He'd nearly...

Fucking _Justin_. His grip on Steve grew punishingly tight and he tilted his head back to suppress tears. He was so angry, and he'd been so afraid, stuck in the pitch dark with only the distant sound of burning rubble for company. And then the water had started dripping in, skin-hot and laden with soot. He'd known what it was, that it was a good thing, but the suffocating steam and heat had been ... horrifying. 

Steve pulled him closer and tucked him in close to his body, dried his cheeks. 

“Fucking Hammer, hiding charges in the ceiling.” 

“I'm so sorry we didn't pick up on them, Tony, it was--”

“The place reeked of ammonium nitrate,” Tony corrected, gently. “It was designed to fool you.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, he was—Coulson has him on record now; he'll get time. Maybe life.” 

Tony shuddered all over and went limp, tucking his face against Steve's collarbone. “Yeah, ok. That's good. Let’s get this over with.” 

Sam and Buck, silent in the front seat until now, exchanged a look.

“You sure? I can tell ‘em doc sent you straight home. No one'd know,” Sam offered. 

“I'm fine, I want Hammer locked away, and that means pressing charges before he gets on a jet to ...what's a non-extradition country? There, anyway.” 

Sam snorted and Bucky flickered human to turn a glare on them. 

“You think Coulson would let that happen, you need some educating.” 

Tony couldn't help but grin, face feeling stiff with sweat and grit. “Still. Once I lie down, I don't want to have to get up for a week.” 

Sam seemed to consider this adequate, and took the turning for the station. 

\---------------------------

“Really, Cap. _Really_?” Tony nudged the wolf with his leg, trying to push him aside. “Cap, you’re inhibiting my movements. _Give me some space_.”

Tony stopped walking and looked down at Steve in exasperation. Steve was in his wolf form, and he looked back at his partner with soulful eyes before he took a step away begrudgingly. 

“Oh, play it up. I'm not letting you carry me. Give it a rest.”

Steve’s pale yellow fur was still covered in soot, and Tony’s own uniform was perfectly clean; straight out of his locker. Tony himself was still grey with soot and his hair had turned into an Einstein-level mess. He was also tired and grumpy, aching but unwilling to be babied anymore. He was sure that Steve was just as bad; he'd been the one digging through rubble for eight hours, and didn't want to put any more strain on him.

Tony gave him the stink-eye. “Really? You barely even shuffled. _Move_. You’re in the way.”

The wolf shuffled another step away.

“Oh my God, Steve. You know what? _Fine_ ,” Tony huffed, throwing his arms up helplessly. He pointed a finger right in Steve’s face and stepped around him, keeping the wolf pinned in place so he could _finally_ leave. Steve followed, his paws nipping at the heel of Tony’s shoes. When Tony opened the passenger door, pointedly, Steve gave himself one final vigorous shake, letting another layer of soot to fly in the air. 

Steve gave a disgruntled Tony a shit-eating grin before he leapt into the car. 

“ _You have spare clothes in your locker you dick,_ ” Tony hissed at him.

Steve, arranging his enormous ass and tail into the bucket seat, didn’t even look at him. 

“You are doing the vacuuming Steve, you ass.”

A bright pink tongue lolled at him through the open window.

Tony clambered into the driving seat and -- where the fuck where the keys? He fumbles, bandages making his fingers feel like they were all one block. The burns were minor but... Stiff.

He tried the glove box, the official lockbox under the seat no one ever used, and even the ignition again; no luck. 

“C'mon, T, you think we're letting you drive.” 

Tony dropped his head onto the steering wheel. “Steve you are an absolute _shit._ Is this why you were stalling? Because I am telling you right now; this was unnecessary. Natasha, please, drive us home; I want to sleep for _ever_.” 

She softened and pulled him out of the car gently. “You're that tired?” 

“Yes, in all seriousness. You could have just offered.” 

Steve whined and ducked his head. 

“You're a dork, and I love you,” Tony told him, sliding into the back seat. Steve's giant head barely fit between the front seats, but he still managed to get close enough for Tony to give him a squeeze. 

“Thanks, Nat. 'preciate it.”

Tony let his eyes close as Nat drove them home, feeling the rumble of the car beneath his feet. He wasn't asleep, not quite, and he listened to the murmur of Nat and Steve talking without taking in any of the words. 


	2. The Porn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony reconnect on an intimate level.

Next thing he knew, Natasha was shaking him awake, and Steve's wet nose was pressed under his chin. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. You're home.”

Tony may be awake now, but the aches and pain had finally settled into his bones until he could barely move. He flailed a hand at his seatbelt and stumbled out of the car, creaking. Steve shouldered under his arm and Tony steadied himself with handfuls of thick ruff.

“Here,” Natasha was saying, distantly, holding out Tony's bag of medications. Steve took them in his teeth and nodded towards the door. She lifted Tony's keys from his pocket while Tony was still moving too slow to notice and he tried to blink himself awake. 

This did not go well; he opened his eyes to find himself draped over Steve's back, head pillowed on his ruff. They hadn't gone far, just to the front door of their apartment. Natasha opened the door for them and Steve squeezed them carefully through, Tony pulled his knees in to help, and got a grateful flick of ear in thanks. 

Tony felt like absolute garbage, sure, but having Steve's thick, muscled body beneath him was comforting enough to make up for it. He whined when Steve tilted him into the couch, but then there was _couch_ to appreciate. Soft, pillowy, smelling like home. He settled in to continue his doze, safe in the knowledge that he had no immediate reason to be awake. 

Distantly, he heard Natasha giving Steve an update on something, then the rattle of food prep and fridge. 

Next thing he knew, he and Steve were alone in the flat. The air had a particular quality when it was just the two of them, sultry and relaxed; free. When he levered his eyes open, Steve was lounging on the floor, chewing his way through a piece of black pepper jerky. Midmorning sunlight still pale white but growing strong and hot, was creeping up his shins and making his body heavy and numb. 

“Did you feed me drugs?” Tony wondered quietly, feeling hazy and slow.

“No, you're just that tired. Comfy?”

“Yeah. 'm not movin.” Tony suspected that moving and the comfort wouldn't be compatible. His stomach growled, which was probably what had woken him, and Steve held out the platter of nibbles. Tony lifted his arm, but the creaky delicate feeling of his hands made him drop it again. 

He turned his head away, frowning and embarrassed. And still hungry. Screwing on his best face, he lifted his chin and opened his mouth.

“Cheep cheep?” Steve asked, smiling and soft. 

“Cheep.”

Steve laughed, maybe a little brittle, and shifted up onto his knees so they could kiss. Warm and peppery, Steve had obviously had the energy to shower and make food; he smelled amazing. Edible.

Tony opened his mouth and Steve fed him a piece of cheese. Unlike Steve, who had monster werewolf jaws, Tony was not a fan of jerky. Instead, Steve fed him careful bites of cheese, prosciutto and lush, crusty bread. Tony, lounging in a hot sunbeam, felt the aches in his bones fade away. 

He shifted onto his side and chased Steve's hand after the next bite, licking his fingers with a slow, sloppy tongue. Steve's breath came rough and he hooked his thumb on Tony's lower jaw, pulling his head up. Tony blinked, heavy and slow, then fixed Steve with a large-eyed begging look.

“You're hurt,” Steve protested. 

Tony blinked, languorous, and licked open mouthed at Steve's thumb until he was satisfied that Steve knew exactly how much Tony cared. 

Steve huffed, and leant down to kiss him right back into the couch. Pinned, with Steve pressing heavily on his shoulders and tongue halfway down his throat, Tony's urgency mellowed back down and he relaxed. When Steve let up, Tony stayed boneless in the cushions, exhausted. Steve, apparently satisfied by Tony's hazy, dopey expression, fed him some more fruit. When the platter was empty, Steve brought out the big guns and put a square of intensely velvety single-source chocolate on his tongue and then kissed it into Tony's mouth. 

Tongues thick and sticky with melty, rich chocolate, their kiss slowed to treacle pace, hot as the sunshine and making time stretch into infinity. 

When they drew apart, Tony blinked up at Steve in pleased bafflement. “What did I do to deserve this?” 

“You survived a burning rubble heap? For eight hours?”

Tony waved this away. “You're not usually this...”

Steve blushed and his eyes shifted to gold. “I am feeling a bit...”

“Territorial?”

“Possessive. We were doing something very suggestive this morning before we were interrupted.” 

Tony flushes with satisfaction himself. “I _knew_ it would do something, glad it worked out.”

Steve nodded and clambered up onto the couch, straddling Tony so he could just lie there and bask in the golden glow of a possessive werewolf. “Also, you diffused two bombs, goaded a perp into confessing on open mic and saved my life. Again. It's very sexy, you know.”

Tony shuffled his hands free and laid them on the arm of the couch, overhead, stretching provocatively and laying himself open for Steve to exploit. He cocked an eyebrow at Steve. “Well, I am a very sexy person, I suppose I can make anything attractive.”

Steve leant down and nuzzled his shirt collar aside, mouthing at Tony's collarbone. “You are... Super duper sexy. You can't imagine how much I want to fuck you all the time. And now. Very much now also. But you're hurt and stiff.”

Tony huffed a laugh. “Pretty sure we'll both be stiff if we go this route any further.” He rolled his shoulders and let the movement ripple down his body to his hips, where the front of his pants rubbed deliciously against Steve's. 

“That's not a 'yes alpha, please fuck me into next week,’ so I'm gonna--” 

Tony looks at him under his long sweeping eyelashes, eyes darkened in lust. “ _Please_ , Steve, big boy, put your giant cock in me and fuck me until I forget my name, please, _alpha._ ”

Steve broke down into laughter, drooping sideways until he was leaning on the back of the couch and giggling helplessly. “That is the hottest ridiculous thing you've ever said.” 

Tony preened. “It's a talent. So? Do I get my reward, Stevie? You gonna fuck me until I can taste it?”

“Sure, honey,” Steve promised, leaning down to peck him sweetly on the lips then pulling back just far enough for Tony to watch his eyes blow gold and teeth lengthen. “It'd be my pleasure.” 

Tony, mouth watering, grinned. “I should fuckin hope so. I’m one hell of a lay, I'm told.” 

“You sure are; gonna milk my cock for every last drop to fill you with. Knot you tight, tie you to me. You gonna come on my knot, Tony? Come, when I plug you wide open?” 

Tony whimpered and arched his back to press his straining cock up against Steve's belly. “Gonna come a lot sooner than that if you run your mouth any more,” he whined, slumping back down. “You'll have to do all the work, love, but yes please, I'd love to take your knot. Please, Steve,” he begged, exhaustion revealing his desperation much sooner than he'd usually play it. 

Steve tucked back over him, sheltering them with broad shoulders and pressing tender kisses over Tony's furrowed brow. “I'll do all the work,” Steve agreed. “You'll be perfect for me, won't you? I'll stretch you out so good, you'll be begging for the knot.” 

Steve climbed off of the couch and tugged him to his feet, but he was so exhausted that his knees went soft and he slumped against Steve's chest. 

“You’ll have to carry me, champ,” Tony said, wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck.

Steve hitched Tony’s good leg up around his waist and held the rest of his weight with two handfuls of his lovers ass, giving him a peck at the crease of his neck and inhaling his scent there. “Shower first. I know you don’t want to get the bed dirty.”

Tony groaned in anticipated bliss. “God yes, please. I can't smell anything but smoke.” 

Steve hefted him a little higher, both of them ignoring the jolt of Tony's hard cock against Steve's belly, and they went to the bathroom. Luckily for Tony, they had a shower chair. Nominally for shower _sex_ , they both used it to slouch in the hot water on a regular basis and now, Steve set Tony down comfortably. 

“We'll need to keep your hands dry,” Steve said, working the showerhead down the pole before turning it to face the wall while it warmed up. 

Tony, cheekily, lifted his arms above his head and crossed his wrists against the tile, tilting his hips and stretching suggestively. 

Steve knelt down, and shoved his face in the strip of belly the move revealed. Tony dropped his arms back down and petted Steve's back, gently. “C'mon, Steve, I smell like brick dust and burning, you're gonna sneeze.”

Steve blew out a hot breath into Tony's clothes, more like his wolf self than any human gesture. “You smell alive, Tony. Alive and hot and really actually very sexy, okay?” 

Tony laughed and picked at his shirt pointedly. “Help me get this off and you'll be able to see and taste it too. C'mon, soldierboy.” 

Steve's hands spanned his belly and slid up under the cotton, incidentally pushing his shirt up while Steve's focus was so obviously feeling him up. Long strokes over belly and the ribs, a deliberate pass of both thumbs over his nipples; Tony shivered in want and relaxed back, boneless. Eventually, the shirt disappeared, following long soothing strokes over Tony's biceps and much more careful plucking over his bandages.

“Do we need to keep the leg dry?” Tony asked, having given exactly zero fucks about the doctor's instructions at the time. 

Steve shook his head. “I'll just replace them. They sent us home with plenty.”

Tony eyeballed his leg through his uniform pants. “I can't feel it, that's good right?” 

Steve, working on his fly button, xocks his head in a vague agreement. “Topical lidocaine. There's more of that too.”

Tony cocked his hips into the pressure of Steve's hands and arched his back luxuriously. Something popped in his spine with the most satisfying sensation of a freed up joint, and Steve pulled his cock out of his underwear. 

Tony was in heaven, lax and sleepy and with the promise of absolutely stellar sex in the near future. At Steve's direction, he wriggled out of the pants, and since he'd given up on socks ages ago, he was done. Steve let him be for a minute while he stripped and Tony cocked an eye open to watch. 

As always, Steve was perfect; healed up from anything he might have taken during the incident. Tony's eyes lingered on the dimple between buttcheek and lower back, then swept up over sculpted lats and was reaching chest height just as Steve turned to face him. That chest; Tony's mouth watered and he sat up, reaching for Steve, wanting to put his mouth on those ridiculous brown nipples. 

Steve smirked down at him, one eyebrow cocked, and Tony took that as permission to go ahead, _sir_ yes _sir_. Steve was hot and salty, his nipple pulling tight with the first touch of Tony's tongue. His chest expanded with Steve's happy sigh and when Tony glanced up, he had his head tilted to the ceiling and a familiar slack-jawed expression.

Yeah, this was _right._

Tony started to suck, sloppy and wet and exactly how Steve liked it, pulling his nipple as far back into his mouth as taught skin and soft muscle would let him. Once it was good and puffy, Tony circled it with the tip of his tongue, pressing and precise, before switching to the other side.

Steve shuddered and brought both hands up to cradle the back of Tony's head, warm and big enough to span from ear to ear. Tony let the nipple pop out of his mouth and slumped to rest against Steve's perfect, golden pecs. 

“Your nipples are...so good. Just. The best thing,” he mumbled.

Steve slid his hands down Tony's neck and began to knead his shoulders. “I'm pretty fond of them myself. You feel real good when you do that.”

“Anytime,” Tony mumbled into Steve's chest. “It feels great on this side too.” 

He felt Steve chuckle under his cheek, and then they were swaying and there was water.

Tony groaned in appreciation, tilting back to lean against the wall and holding his hands out of the way. Hot, gentle rain pounded his legs, the swept up over cock and belly to rinse through his hair. Steve set it there, low enough for Tony to comfortably stay in the water and keep his hands out at the same time. When Tony opened his eyes, tilting his face away from the spray, Steve was kneeling at his feet on the tile, staring at Tony like the sun rose on his skin. 

“Hey Steve,” Tony murmured, “Love you.”

Steve looked him in the eye, gone soft and happy and warm. “I love you too, babe.” 

They leaned in for a kiss and then Steve started work on the sooty sweat Tony was so eager the get rid of. It was unquestionably a deeply sexy exchange, and Tony felt himself harden with every sweep of slick hands, every gentle movement of slack and tired limbs. Blissed out, Tony was happy to close his eyes for a hair wash, and then they were nominally done. 

But Steve, never one to miss an opportunity, turned his attention to Tony's cock. Slippery, lubed fingers stroked the crease between balls and thigh, then further until Steve was pressing gently at his hole. Tony arched his back and spread his legs, happy and relaxed and buzzing with the inexorable build of arousal. 

“Okay?”

Tony nodded. “I wasn't kidding, and I know it takes prep; please do.” 

Steve surged up and kissed him, tongue and heavy breaths and scorching hot. 

Steve's fingers circled and pressed and slid easily inside, building to a four-fingered stretch even as time seemed to stretch again, easy and smooth as honey. A pause to turn the water off and get dry turned into an excuse for Tony to return the favour and kiss some of his heady pleasure into Steve's mouth. 

Of course, then they had to pause properly, to sort out damp bandages, but Tony clung valiantly to his loose, relaxed state, trying to hold onto Steve's hard work stretching him. 

Being loose, and clean and open, ready, was a very sexy feeling. Steve could just push inside and Tony would be ecstatic to take him. 

When they were done with annoying practicalities, Steve scooped him up off the counter top and settled Tony's legs on either side of his waist. When he flexed, Tony could just barely feel the tip of Steve's cock against the back of his balls and just the thought made his cock jerk.

Steve laughed and shifted Tony a little higher. “No mischief, you; you're not there yet.” 

Tony whined. “I'm so relaxed, Steve, I'm full of honey and sunshine; I'm ready, I am.”

Steve shifted his weight and freed up a hand to slide down over Tony's ass. Shivers had Tony arching with a gasp and Steve pushed two fingers into his stull-slick hole. The stretch felt luxurious and delightful, turning Tony's bones to jelly at this angle. Steve kept them there, crooked, while he walked them to the bedroom.

Each step shifted them together slightly and Tony was open mouthed and drooling onto Steve's shoulder by the time they reached the bed. Small vowel-only noises escaped him as Steve lowered him back to the sheets and finally let his fingers slip free. 

“How is it,” Steve murmured as he settled between Tony's legs, mouthing at his chest. “That you're the sexiest, most incendiary, dangerous creature when you’re tired, hmm?” He slid a palm up Tony's thigh and, true to form, Tony couldn't help but writhe and arch and make himself open and welcoming. “While when I'm tired, I turn into a—a grumpy, slack-jawed growler?”

Tony laughed, shuffling his hips and making room for Steve's fingers, which obliged and slid back in, slow and focused on stretching. 

“It's because you don't have what I do; the most perfect, sexy, giving, relentless, tender—” Tony gasped, sure that Steve going after his prostate then was deliberate timing. He laughed and sighed as the white-hot wave of pleasure lifted him up into a place where the air sparkled and his blood fizzed like champagne. 

“You don't have a _Steve._ How can I be grumpy when you are... You are so wonderful, you raise me up and ahh--” Steve had stopped stroking Tony's insides and instead was nuzzling his chest and breathing deep and generally having very visible feelings all over him. Tony risked a little pain and put his hands over Steve's head, smoothing and soothing.

“You raise me up when I have fallen, heal me when I am pained and, Steve, Steve; I _love you._ How could I not want you to ravish me at any moment?” 

“You—you do the same for me, I—I don't know what I'd do without—” 

Tony shushed him, pressing him close. “It's okay, Steve; we're not the same, we love in different ways. I trust you with all my body, and you... You lie down and nap while I'm diffusing _actual bombs_. I'm just...being a poetry nerd. I respond to--” Steve had turned his hand and was pressing in with more now, his movements a little more needy, moving towards desperate. “I give you everything like this, when I'm tir— ahh! Tired! And hurt, because you are doing the same— _ngh_! Ste— _Steve_!”

He paused, hauling in air, hands pressing down on Steve's shoulders, needy and desperate while Steve sucked and stroked and built something enormous in Tony's chest. 

“You do the same for me! I swear you do, oh god!” Tony tipped his head back and covered his mouth with the back of his wrist, keeping the more obscene cries to a reasonable, muffled ecstasy. Steve sucked down his cock at that point and the deep, relentless plunge of his fingers met the bright, sparkling pleasure of really good head and exploded somewhere around his navel. 

Shuddering and still spilling come, Tony watched Steve rise to his knees and line up that gorgeous, perfect cock. Tony whimpered, still in the midst of a thunderstorm orgasm, and had to look away as Steve pushed inside. 

Steve slid in one, long thrust, ignoring any resistance from Tony's body and finding none. Come spurted weakly from Tony's cock and pleasure zapped up his spine, undoing an awful lot of Steve's hard work as he clamped down around his cock. Seated deep and rocking Tony gently through the aftershocks, Steve felt heavy and enormous and Tony was rendered speechless and breathless. Every shift rubbed against something amazing, stretched him somewhere perfect, and the drifting aftershocks of orgasm mellowed into something deeper and more profound. 

Steve curled forward and they met desperately, kiss wet and wild and uncoordinated. Tony whimpered into Steve's mouth and it was swallowed with a possessive, chest-shaking growl. 

“I love you, I love your quick hands and your perfect, soft sexyness, and I would trust you with every decision in my life if I could.”

Tony gasped and pushed down on Steve's cock, incredulous at the rising heat so soon. “Sounds—sounds great. Good— _ugh_... Good talk. How—”

Steve shushed him gently by smothering the words into another deep,open-mouthed kiss. Then he reared up, set his hands on Tony's hips and rocked into him, barely pulling back and bottoming out on each thrust. 

Tony was a long way from _words_ after that. He watched Steve's face, mouth slack and body overtaken with pleasure, and felt every inch of that giant cock as it slid so easily and so deep into him. 

He reached out for Steve's biceps, wanting to feel the pent up, restrained power of him, but Steve growled, eyes opening gold. Tony felt something shift inside too, and his eyes rolled back in his head as the knot, Steve's knot, pressed into his prostate.

He didn't resist as Steve gathered up his arms and pinned them to the bed above his head, one handed. The stretch of torso and belly made Steve's thrusts deeper, made him feel bigger, as Tony's body clenched around him. 

With only one hand, Steve was rougher, the slide less smooth, and Tony loved it. Each thrust slightly different, a rolling storm of jolts and delights that had Tony writhing and crying out, heels drumming on Steve's flank to draw him deeper, to have _more_ of him, 

“Steve! Please, knot me, oh please, give it to me, I _want it_ , oh god, I _need_ it—!”

Steve grunted and snarled, leaning down to fit jaws no longer quite human around Tony's throat. He released Tony's hands, but Tony was too far gone to do more than press them over his face, desperate and bubbling with the build of another orgasm.

Steve drew out and flipped Tony onto his knees, face and shoulders on the bed, before holding his hole wide with one hand and working himself back inside with the other. Tony choked and gasped through the process, Steve feeling larger than he'd been when he pulled out; the hard knot growing and insistent. 

Once he was fully seated, Steve planted a hand on the small of Tony's back and forced him to arch; his channel tightened and Steve pushed deeper than ever. More of the shift had overtaken him, his cock growing needy and thick, and Steve bit down on the nape of Tony's neck, holding him against the force of being fucked by such a large, virulent cock.

At this angle, Tony was seeing sparks with every thrust, the breath driven out of him and his cock throbbing with need. 

Steve's pace grew deep and fast, pulling out further and plunging harder, his knot stretching Tony wide on each pass until finally it caught, too big to draw back out.

Tony screamed, a good, throaty yell of pleasure as it held fast over his prostate and stretched him to a perfect limit. Steve rammed the last little way inside and groaned deep as he started to swell, to lock in place. Small rocking thrusts milked Tony's prostate until he was moments away from coming untouched and then Steve came, cockhead swelling to match his knot and filling Tony up with come. 

The pressure and deep fullness set Tony off, a deep flood of heat rushing over him, stealing this breath and his voice. Clenching down around Steve's cock made golden sparks dance in front of his eyes and heat spread from gut to fingertips. He shuddered, fucking himself on what give Steve's giant cock would permit him. 

Steve was not finished. For as long as the knot held, he would keep thrusting, small but momentous movements that stuffed Tony full in a way that he'd never felt anywhere but here, with Steve. He was still pouring hot and thick into Tony and would keep coming until they seperated. Steve ran incredibly hot, and Tony felt every scorching spurt inside his belly. Tony's legs trembled with each throb, each spurt of relentless heat and Steve slowly ground into action. 

He released Tony's neck, the hold not necessary now they were tied and secure, and slowly lowered them to their sides. He shifted Tony's injured leg forward and--oh that felt good,-- Tony spasmed around Steve, the angle different and his come a more comfortable stretch in his belly. Looking down, Tony could see the soft bulge already, and if he pressed on it Steve would _feel_ it, inside, in the shift of his body. But Tony's wrists were held tight in one of Steve's massive hands.

The other locked around Tony's waist, tucking against the bulge and pressing them together deep inside. The next spurt of come hit Tony high and deep, wringing a cry from his hoarse throat and making him just slightly desperate.

Tony bore the pleasure as it built and mellowed into a relentless heat. He shook and relaxed in time with the jolts of Steve's hips as he filled him up and his belly swelled and pushed buttons nothing else could touch. Slowly, driven by the constant shifting of hard, veined knot against his prostate, and the pulsing stretch of heated come, Tony began to pant, to whine with need, periods of relaxation diminishing until he was shaking and desperate again. 

He writhed, spitted on Steve's alpha-shift knot, and begged wordlessly for _something_. Clenching, moving, even breathing moved the knot inside him, incessant, and Steve's heartbeat throbbed wildly inside it, ratcheting Tony ever higher. 

“Shhh, I got you, my perfect knotted Tony, my ideal beloved, ahh...I'll let you come once more. Okay? Come here, let your hands rest..”

Steve gathered him close, arms pinned to his chest and legs to the bed by the close sprawl of Steve's limbs. He rocked into him and Tony cried, he begged, he wanted more, but Steve was slow, steady. 

The pace wound Tony ever tighter, his thighs trembling as he pushed back, as he scissored his legs open, trying to get more thrust, deeper, fuller, anything to drive him over the precipitous edge. Steve forced him slow, patient, and Tony knew why, knew he couldn't come just yet, he wasn't rested enough, was too spent, but oh god he _wanted_ , his body tingled and shook with pleasure like it was just right there. 

But Steve knew him better than he knew himself, like this, and held him tight, waited for his belly to swell, rationed out the pleasure until Tony could barely breathe from longing, then gave him a little more, and just a little more. 

Halfway through the knot, maybe further, and Tony was a quivering mess of need, cock drooling and insensate with pleasure. His belly rounded and trembling with Steve's come, so full, pressing against the base of his cock from the inside and making lust jolt through him. _Then,_ Steve finally deemed him ready and rolled them so tenderly so Tony was lying on top, speared on Steve's cock and on display for the whole world to see. The humiliation, feeling so exposed, would only wind him tighter, make his belly spasm around Steve's come and on his knot. 

Carefully, gentle with this wild, desperate creature Tony felt he had become, Steve sat them up and Tony's whole weight gradually came to bear on Steve's lap, driving Steve as deep as any super-strength thrust had managed. They stilled, Tony in silent pleasure shock and Steve waiting for him with infinite patience, until finally Tony rolled his hips. A slight tilt, just enough to move the knot just right--

Tony's voice returned and he cried out, clutched at Steve for more. He was going mad, he was sure of it, his brain white noise while his body burnt up, shook apart. Each shift he felt stretched wider, pumped a little fuller, and _then_ Steve started touching him. 

A slow slide up his thighs, hot hands pressing on the small of his back, a sensuous trail from spine to chest, palming nipples and then down over his full belly. 

“Ready, Tony? I think you are... Look at you, so full and stretched, taking my full-shift cock. All that come stuffed inside you...”

Tony couldn't reply; Steve's palms followed his description, pressing in on his taut belly, looking for the rigid cock beneath. Whether he found it or not, Tony could feel every shift and pressure, feel the brutal fullness and electrifying stretch. He reached back and hooked his arm behind Steve's head, needing more, closer, harder— _now._

Steve's hand wrapped around his cock but that was secondary to the shift and thrust of his hips, pounding up against Tony's whole weight and sending Tony soaring to wild, blinding heights. 

White light filled his vision, and he came from somewhere deeper and stronger than before, his whole body seizing up until his muscles burned. Heat spread from his swollen belly all the way to his fingertips and he cried out, breath coming short as ropes of come shot over Steve's fingers and up Tony's chest. 

White light washed into white noise, and he fell backwards into Steve's chest, cradled and held and perfectly safe and knotted and wonderful. 

Warm dark closed his eyes for him and he sank back, settling and finding his fingertips again. A soft cloth wiped at his chest, then at where they were joined, making him jump and his cock spurt again. Steve chuckled—not helping, honey—and slowly slowly, they came down from the clouds. 

Tony could feel sleep stealing over him, a deep dark that, given the day, would probably last through into tomorrow afternoon. He tilted his head to Steve, begging for a kiss, which was granted effortlessly.

“You're amazing, Steve, that was ...you always know just what...”

Tony trailed of with Steve gathering him close and felt a smile pressed against his cheek.

“Love you...” Tony murmured, finally.

He just barely caught Steve's 'I love you, too,’ as he passed out.

In his sleep, he didn’t feel the gentle brush on his head, hand combing back his bangs, but he reacted all the same, curling into Steve’s hold more closely and relaxing as Steve pressed kisses upon his cheek. But he didn’t need to feel it.

He already knew that he was Steve’s mate, and Steve was his, claimed, owned, and marked.


End file.
